Dead Pulse Rising: A Zombie Novel

by K. Michael Gibson

  My last remaining round caught her in the shoulder and blew out the joint that connected her arm to her upper body. She kept coming, dragging the granny walker behind her; it caught leaves and sticks underneath the dirty yellow-green tennis balls. Her arm hung uselessly by a tendon and flopped back and forth as she scrambled forward.

  Gore seeped from the horrific wound and caused my already-nervous stomach to lurch. I caught it in my chest and held my breath. Her stench hit me next. Never had I smelled something as grotesque as this thing that hovered in front of me. The scent reminded me of the Krokodil addicts I had seen in Russia almost a decade ago. Bits of their limbs decayed with gangrene from injecting codeine cut with gasoline or lighter fluid. At the time that was the only reference to walking death I had ever seen, let alone imagine.

  As she got closer, I could make out the decay that encrusted her upper body. Her dress was torn just below her sagging breasts, the flesh was shriveled and red, raw and inflamed all at the same time, and it ran along the length of her chest and up to the bottom of her chin.

  “Jesus Christ!” I gasped as she lunged for me, dropping the walker behind her. For as old and decrepit that she was, she could sure move fast. Her one good arm reached for me, and by force of habit, I pulled the trigger on my .357, which seemed to laugh at me with an audible click. Remembering in that instant that the weapon was empty, I fell backward to the ground.

  With my back against the soil, I reached forward and grasped her outstretched arm. I planted my foot against her chest and shoved upward, throttling her up and into the air. Her thin frame launched over me and landed directly in the middle of the pathway, right next to Jones’ hiding spot. Somehow remarkably, she seemed to sense the big man standing there. I watched as she managed to scramble to her feet and charge around the tree. I heard the big man curse and open fire. Quickly, I hit the switch to release the cylinder of my sidearm and swung it out. I ejected the spent cartridges and grabbed a fresh speed loader off my duty rig. In an instant, I popped the new one in and gave it a twist, dropping the new rounds into the weapon. I snapped the cylinder shut and discarded the speed loader, dropping it to the ground out of habit.

  People often asked me while on the gun range why I would toss my magazines to the side when reloading. I would then go into a long spiel about the necessity of this practice. If by chance you were unlucky enough to find yourself in a firefight, the last thing you wanted to do was waste precious seconds by worrying about your damn magazines.

  “Let it fall. Your life is worth more than the few dollars you spent on it,” I would always tell the rookies I was expected to train. A bellowing voice brought me back to reality.

  “Nice try, asshole!” I heard as the sound of sporadic gunfire peppered my location.

  “Damn, you mean the ol’ rabid granny ploy didn’t take you out?” I said tauntingly. “Look, uh, Jonsey we’re kind of at an impasse here, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but were starting to draw a crowd. Why don’t we just call it a draw and discuss this some other time?” I said, hoping we could side with reason and try to make it to some semblance of safety.

  “Sure, I’ll tell you what. Let’s make a deal. You give me the file, and then I kill you. How’s that sound?” I heard Jones eject his magazine and load in a fresh one.

  Crap, I thought and followed with a sigh. I gazed down at Marvin and noticed he was starting to fade back into the conscious world.

  “Just make a run for it, Kyle. I’ll hold this prick!” Richard shouted from down the pathway.

  I heard Jones laugh in response. I crouched behind the tree and took aim. I was at an odd angle to my enemy, but a thought occurred to me. If he so much as poked his weapon out to take another pop shot at Richard, maybe, just maybe, I could shut him down.

  “Not a chance, Rich! We’re walking out of here together, man!” I shouted back in reply.

  “Aw, ain’t that sweet,” Jones’ deep voice muttered from across the expanse.

  I cast a worried glance around as the moans of the infected were getting steadily closer to us.

  “Go screw yourself,” Richard answered.

  Just as expected, Jones took aim in Richard’s direction. The black barrel of his MP5 protruded from beyond the massive oak tree. I took aim and blew out all the oxygen in my lungs. If he fired before I could line up my sites, this was not going to end well. As it was, Richard’s cover had all but been shredded, the back of the infected being all but disintegrated by the constant assault. I squeezed the trigger. The weapon in my hands kicked back, the bullet finding its mark.

  Jones shrieked from behind his cover, a sound I thought was uncharacteristic of the big man. I heard him utter a curse as he dropped the weapon to the ground, the MP5 now useless as my round punched into it skewing the barrel. I knew, however, from seeing them previously, he had a backup weapon strapped to a leg holster situated on his thigh. I jumped up and dashed out from cover, firing in his general direction as I headed toward Richard’s position, not wanting to give the man a chance at drawing down on me. To my surprise, the large figure retreated, disappearing into the surrounding landscape in a flash. I was shocked that a man of that size could move so damn quickly.

  I ran over to Richard, hurdling over the body of the fallen infected at his feet. I reached down and carefully grasped hold of the dead thing that lay on top of him. Richard pushed the figure off him as I pulled, and I held my hand out to help him to his feet.

  “You wounded?” I asked, giving the man a once-over.

  “I don’t think so, took a few rounds in the vest, but I don’t think anything is broken.” He sighed with relief. It was short lived. The infected in the area were once again getting dangerously close.

  “What the hell is going on?” Marvin grumbled from behind the tree I had sought refuge in only moments ago.

  Richard took a moment to top off his magazine as I dashed over to aid Marv. I reached the old man and smiled. Marvin sat where I had left him, rubbing the top of his bald head.

  He squinted up at me and scowled. “I thought I was dead, but if you’re here, then I’m definitely not in heaven,” he snorted.

  I shrugged off his jibe and helped him to his feet. “Well, you’re too much of an asshole to die anyway,” I quipped. “C’mon, we need to get going before we end up a happy meal.” I motioned toward the infected moving toward our location.

  We turned quickly, heading off to regroup with Richard. No words needed to be said. Marvin picked up yet another branch, and we took off into the forest.

  Chapter 24

  Marvin, Richard, and I shot out of the forest into the roadway running full tilt. I slammed into a small hybrid car and dented its exterior with my thigh. I cursed and jumped over the hood just as the infected came spilling out of the trees. There had to be at least fifty of them, all of them ranging in different levels of grotesqueness. Several of the shambling figures were missing limbs or displayed torn arteries or throats; all of them were focused on us.

  “Go, go, go!” Richard shouted and pointed down the road. Apparently, he seemed to recognize this stretch of road.

  Marvin and I followed the police officer, positioning ourselves in between the rows of cars in the street, trying to use them as a sort of barrier between us and the infected. Growling moaning figures plowed into the sides of the derelict cars, reaching out, trying anything it seemed to get at our warm flesh.

  “This way.” Richard pointed and shot off down a side street that led to the fuel depot area of the airport.

  Gigantic white cylindrical tanks protruded from the earth, three in all labeled Jet Fuel. Signs like Keep Out and Danger were posted all throughout the area. As we rounded one of the tanks, a smallish building came into view. Lo and behold, it was the police station. Keep the jet fuel by the police station, I thought. Makes sense to me.

  Richard ran directly toward the front doors of the building and stopped abruptly.

  Marvin and I made it over to his position, the infected not
far behind. “What is it?” I said, looking from Richard to the door, and then to the infected that were steadily closing in. Richard tapped the card reader imbedded in the brick next to the door. I examined it closely and took notice that the small LED light was dark. I cocked and eyebrow as I realized what the problem was. There was no power. No power meant the card reader wouldn’t work no matter how many times you swiped it; hence, the door was locked.

  “Don’t they have a backup battery or something?” I asked, giving the bottom of the door a small kick in frustration. To my surprise, the door bounced open. “What the?” I said in shock, staring at the handle as if I had just imagined it.

  Richard grinned at me. He reached down, clutched the door handle, and pulled. The door swung open with ease, and we rushed inside just as the infected reached the building. Richard hastily slammed the door shut.

  “Quick, find something we can use to brace this.” Richard ordered.

  I wanted to ask him why the hell the door wasn’t locked, but I decided now was probably not the time. We stood inside of a small vestibule that led into a larger lobby area. I peered through a tiny window situated at the top of the door and gazed into the lobby proper. The lobby itself was dark as ink. I tried to listen for any sounds of movement, but the barrage of hands beating on the front door obliterated any chance of that bearing any fruit. I swallowed hard and brought my sidearm up to the ready. Marvin stood behind me, still clutching onto his broken stick.

  “Marv, stay here. I’ve got this,” I told the shaken man, and he nodded. Looking at him for a long moment, I could tell that he was in intense pain. Prosthetic legs and knee implants were good for your everyday stroll, but when it came down to it, they just weren’t designed for the type of rigorous abuse they’d been put through today. I gave him a quick nod as he wiped beads of sweat away from his brow. “You keep watch. Open this door quick if I come running. Got it?” I said.

  Marvin eyed me with a small look of annoyance. “When have I ever let you down when it came to opening a damn door? Hell, been doing it for ten freaking years, kid.” He chuckled slightly; it was an inside joke of ours.

  In our profession, there were two components: the guys like me and the guys like Marvin. The guys like me were the ones who made the actual deliveries to your various banks and stores and so forth and so on. We were up and down all day long, back and forth, counting on our drivers to keep an eye on the scene, and hopefully warn us of any potential danger.

  The guys like Marvin sat on their respective rear ends all day and opened the door as we would either leave or return to the trucks. So I would always joke around with the old man, telling him that he was pretty much a professional door opener. That would usually end up in a snide remark from the man.

  Slowly, I pulled the door open, and gingerly stepped inside. The room for the most part was pitch black, save for a small area illuminated by the bit of sunlight filtering through the porthole in the door. I reached down to my duty rig, hoping that somehow my mini-mag managed to stay attached. My hand brushed against its cool metal surface, and I let out a thankful sigh. Pulling it out of my belt, I turned it on with a twist, and focused the beam to go wide.

  I scanned the area with the flashlight. Rows of chairs set alongside plain white brick walls, a few end tables situated at the ends of each. It reminded me almost like a tiny doctor’s office waiting room, with the exception that there was a small window where a desk sergeant would reside rather than a receptionist. The room itself seemed to be clear of any threats. I could still hear the muffled pounding on the other side of the door as I searched for something I could use to barricade us in. I walked over to one of the chairs and tried to pick it up. As I expected, the chairs themselves were bolted to the floor. Upon closer examination, I discovered the end tables were as well. Guess they didn’t want anyone in here to have anything that could be used as a potential weapon.

  I scratched my head in thought. There was another door that led deeper into the structure, but there was no way in hell that I was going to go roaming around a police station in the middle of all of this shit without some kind of backup—then it hit me.

  “Of course. God, I’m stupid sometimes.” I smacked myself in the forehead. Quickly I hurried my way back toward the entryway.

  Marvin opened the door in a flash, a look of concern crossing over his aging features. He peered over my shoulder, then looked at me as I entered.

  I gave him a wink to indicate that everything was fine. I stormed over to Richard, who was doing his best to hold the door shut.

  He stood there holding the handle with both hands, trying to keep the infected outside at bay, clutching the door to prevent them from knocking it open as I had.

  “Rich, keep doing what you’re doing. This is in no way weird,” I stated as I reached down and ran my hands along his duty rig.

  Richard gave me a confused and somewhat worried glance. “What the hell are you looking for?” he said as I located the item.

  Unsnapping the compartment on his belt, I retrieved his handcuffs and held them up in the air, letting them dangle in front of his face.

  A smile crossed Richards’s hard features. “Well, go ahead and do it then,” he said.

  I attached one end of the handcuffs to the door handle and snapped them closed. The second more tricky part would be finding something to secure it to. The only thing there that would possibly even work in that capacity was a small mail slot that resided next to the door. It would be awkward, but I was pretty sure I could manage the task. Biggest problem was Richard. Rich’s large frame happened to be positioned right in front of the damn thing. If he let go and repositioned himself, it would most likely leave an opening for the infected to get in.

  I sighed to myself, and said in my best John Wayne voice, “Man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.” I closed my arms around Richard in a bear hug like posture. To look at us was, well, downright shameful. Here Richard stood, half bent over a door, and I myself was pressed into his back side, arms around him, fishing around for a set of handcuffs. I had seen porno movies start out on less.

  Marvin, sensing my discomfort, had to throw his two cents in. “Damn, son, you gonna buy him dinner first?” he snorted in the background.

  Richard shot the old man a glare, and I simply shook my head and chose to ignore him. After fishing around blindly, I located the dangling handcuff. Grasping it in one hand, I felt around the edge of the door with the other. After searching for a moment I located, the cool metal slot set off merely inches from the door frame. Pulling the open handcuff over, I raised the mail slot open, and shoved the loose end inside and let the flap fall. Not the most secure of locks, but I hoped it would be enough, as it was judging by the way these things moved and acted, I highly doubted any of them would have the reasoning power to figure it out.

  I let go of Richard and backed away from the door. I looked over at Marv, who was still standing by the opposite end, and motioned for him to go into the other room.

  “You guys need some alone time?” he glowered and shot a thumb toward the lobby.

  “Get in the other room, Marv,” I said irritably. “If this doesn’t hold, we’re probably toast. At least you may stand a chance.”

  “Doubtful,” Richard muttered.

  I drew my sidearm and motioned to Rich to let go of the door. He nodded, stepping back quickly, drawing his piece as well.

  Marvin quickly dashed through the other door; I suppose probably figuring it to be a good idea. He held the door open in anticipation, waiting to see if the infected would push through.

  The handcuffs rattled like ghostly chains in the night as the infected pounded on the door’s surface. Although the door bounced and jolted every few seconds, it seemed to be holding. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Okay, guys, let’s get moving,” I said, never taking my eyes off the entryway. I couldn’t help but focus on the coating of blood and mucus on the door’s windows. It slid down the exterior slowly and smeared e
very time a hand or eager face pressed up against it. In some strange way, it reminded me of my dog pawing at the sliding glass door in anticipation, waiting for me to let him out.

  Quickly, we backed our way out of the vestibule, entering the darkened lobby. All three of us reached down and removed our flashlights from our duty rigs. It seemed to be an instinct that we shared as we took the action without so much as a word spoken.

  Lights turned on; the beams played across the small confines of the lobby, illuminating the rows of chairs and end tables. Light reflected off the glossy covers of magazines that occupied the small tables, throwing ghastly shadows over the room, playing on our already-frayed nerves. Although I had already cleared the area, my senses were so hyper-intensified; every sound, every movement registered in my mind in a fraction of a second. I had to try to slow myself down lest my adrenaline-soaked veins drive me into a state of sheer panic. Slow down, take things one at a time, I told myself over and over.

  Richard shined the narrow beam of his SureFire flashlight directly at the booth that would have normally housed the station’s desk sergeant. Frowning, Rich stormed over to the protective window that enclosed the booth. He pressed his face to the glass, cupped the sides of his eyes, and shined his torch into the room’s interior. Seeing nothing, he groaned.

  “Where in the hell is everybody?” Richard said with some confusion. There should be someone here, there’s always someone here,” he exasperated. Frantically, Rich adjusted the direction of his beam and gasped.

  “What is it?” I said, taking a step forward.

  Rich gave me a look of desperation and squinted as my flashlight caught him in the eyes. I lowered the beam from his face, and his eyes relaxed.

  “Blood, a lot of it, on the floor behind the desk,” Richard stated, the look of panic seeming to betray his normally stoic features.

  I shook my head. Was nowhere safe? I thought. Even here, in the hub of law enforcement, I stepped over beside him and peered into the window and beyond the desk, looking at the pool of dark liquid on the ground. I followed a smeared pathway throughout the smallish room that led to an open doorway.